


Just A Pint

by digitalcatnip



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Someone gets shot but like that's not abnormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 22:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalcatnip/pseuds/digitalcatnip
Summary: Hoxton's a lightweight after getting out of prison.





	Just A Pint

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an in-game roleplay I did once with a friend. Originally posted in 2015 on Tumblr, slightly edited. This is post-breakout missions so fanon is more aligned with canon at this point. Who doesn't love a nightclub job??
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr @cataouatche !

* * *

 

 

                Hoxton and Houston sat across from one another in the van, bouncing along in silence as Twitch rolled them toward the nightclub.  It was late in the evening, the weather was beginning to warm up, and Houston was staring at his feet, painfully aware of Hoxton’s eyes boring holes into the back of his skull.

                Finally, he looked up.  “What do you want?”

                Hoxton leaned back in his seat, arms crossed.  “My mask back.”

                Houston rolled his eyes.  The feud between them had long been settled, but the Englishman never missed an opportunity to rag on him about the mask thing.  “Shove it up your ass.”

                Hoxton didn’t react.

                “No really, what do you want?” Houston asked.  He wouldn’t necessarily call themselves friends, but he at least didn’t feel like Hoxton wanted to tear his throat out at every given opportunity.  The insult slinging was definitely still a thing, however.  Many times Houston didn’t even know if he was actually being insulted or not, but the venom in Hoxton’s voice was always present.

                Hoxton fidgeted with his collar.  “Truthfully?  To get out of this bloody suit.  I’d forgotten how damn uncomfortable these things were.  I miss the days when we would wear whatever we wanted on a job instead of having to look so damn posh all the time.”

                Houston grunted.  “I wasn’t around for that but I agree; it would be nice to wear something else for once.  Dallas seems to think we need a trademark, as if the masks aren’t enough. “

                “Dallas is a twat and someone should get him off his high horse,” Hoxton grumbled.   “He won’t let me buy any more cup noodles to eat while we’re at the safehouse.”

                “That’s because you bought the entire supply at Whole Foods and left the cashier a $3,000 tip.”

                Hoxton shrugged.  “It was Christmas.  I felt generous.”

                Houston laughed.  “Hardened English criminal James Hoxworth, slayer of police forces, stealer of millions, brought to his knees by the celebration of some dead guy’s birthday.   Amazing.”

                Hoxton poked his lip out.  “I have a soft spot for Christmas, okay.  It brings out my best side.”

                “Which side is that, the one that looks like arse, or the one covered in scars?” Houston smiled smugly at the look of disgust on Hoxton’s face at his pronunciation of ‘arse.’

                The van began to drive more slowly, having turn onto city streets, caught in traffic.  The two of them began preparing for the hit, checking that masks and weapons couldn’t be seen underneath their clothes, and they had all the necessary equipment.

                “You sure you know how to work the drills?” Houston asked, popping the battery out of an ECM jammer.

                Hoxton turned the bit around in his hand before pushing it under his coat.  “Well enough.  I’m not as fast or as quiet as he is, but then again, I never was.” 

                Houston touched his tongue to the terminals of the battery, yelping as it shocked him.  “With luck we won’t need them, so that’s fine.”

                He popped the battery back into the device, then proceeded to perform the same check on the other.  When he was done, he looked up at Hoxton.  “Hey, when we’re done here, you wanna grab Chinese on the way out?  Twitch owes me a favour and I’m gonna be starving by the time we’re outta here.”

                “Are you asking me out to dinner?”

                “Glad it’s agreed to then.”

                “I didn’t agree to anything.”

                The van lurched to a stop.  Houston’s face tightened – it was time to get paid.

                The two men hopped out of the back of the van and into an alley.  They could hear the music from the nightclub, and followed it around onto the street.  They fell into an easy, casual walk next to one another, Houston telling Hoxton some bullshit story about his wife that didn’t exist, simulating small talk between two coworkers who were meeting up with friends after a long day’s work to start their weekend.

                The bouncer seemed hesitant to let them in, eying the two of them up, Hoxton in particular.  The big man’s eyes lingered on Hoxton’s face.

                “Hey, man, it’s rude to stare.”  Houston was standing half in front of Hoxton now, glaring at the bouncer.

                The bouncer looked a bit embarrassed.  “You’re not on the list, but you look alright. Come on in.  Drinks are half off tonight.”

                The two men walked into the club together, ears assaulted with shitty top-40s music blasting from the speakers.  The place was gaudy, but had plenty of seating, and from what Hoxton could see, a decent enough bar.

                “I could really go for a pint about now,” Hoxton said wistfully.

                Houston turned on his earpiece and gave him a look.  “Hox, we’re on a job.”

                “Just a pint, asslord, a pint never hurt nobody.”

                Houston walked off, his voice coming to Hoxton through the headset.  “Whatever, I’m going to do my job.”

                Hoxton curled his lip and made faces behind Houston’s head as he walked over to the bar and slid into a stool.

                “I’ll have a pint, if you please,” he said, flashing a tenner at the bartender.

                “A pint of what?”

                Hoxton shrugged.  “Not picky.  Whatever this’ll get me.”

                The bartender set to work.

 

 

                Houston’s brow was starting to sweat behind his mask, the heat of the lights and sweaty bodies on the dance floor drifting upstairs to the office where he was currently picking the lock on a safe that he hoped was full of cash.  A downstairs safe had yielded an impressive amount of cocaine (and oh, he wished he could take some for himself, but he knew Dallas would skin him alive,) but they weren’t there for the drugs.

                 The safe’s lock clicked audibly, and he retrieved his picks and swung the door open.  The music was pounding almost as hard as his heart in his chest, making it difficult to hear what was going on around him.

                 _Paydirt_ , he thought, as the safe revealed neatly bundled stacks of cash, just ripe for the taking.  Houston shoved the cash into bags, smashing the back window of the office with his butt of his pistol and tossing the bags out to the loot driver below.  When he had unloaded both the drugs and the money, he took his mask off and pushed it back into his coat.  He wiped his face off, straightened his tie, and walked nonchalantly back out into the main area of the nightclub.

                When he turned the corner near the bar, he felt his blood pressure rise.

                Hoxton was at the bar, uncomfortably close to a huge man in a leather jacket, his fist suspiciously pressed against the man’s solar plexus, Hoxton’s gun on the floor.  Hoxton caught Houston’s eye, and the face he gave was one of panic.

                Houston ran over and caught the big man, whose breathing was labored, but whose face was a mask of unbridled rage.  “What the fuck did you do?”

                “This guy ran into me while I was goin’ to the loo and my gun fell out and did you know these guys are Russian?”  Hoxton was grinning wide, apparently completely unaware of the seriousness of the situation.

                The main growled and took a swing at Hoxton, who somehow was able to duck out of the way.  His hand retracted from the man’s midsection, bringing with it a flow of blood.

                “Oh my god you didn’t,” Houston breathed, staring at the shank in Hoxton’s hand, sticky and red.

                Hoxton jammed the blade into the man’s chest again, apparently hitting close enough to his mark to send the man to his knees.  Fast as lightning, Hoxton dropped to the ground and snatched his pistol, firing a round into the man’s skull.  Behind him, a woman screamed, and Houston had the sense to turn his face.

                Houston hastily pulled his mask over his face, then threw himself into his partner, slapping him hard across the face.  “How many beers did you have?”  He could hear the sounds of panic behind them.

                “One!  Maybe two.  I forgot.”

                Houston groaned, and pushed Hoxton toward the door.  “You fucking idiot, I’m going to tear your ass up later, and then everyone else will beat the shit out of the pulp I leave behind…”  The insults were cut short by gunfire whizzing over their heads.  Houston fired a few rounds behind him, watching more gangster-looking men duck around walls.  Outside, sirens were blaring.

                “For fuck’s sake Hoxton put your god damn mask on!”

                Hoxton laughed.  “Why?  They know my name and what I look like, why try to hide anymore?”

                Houston shoved him into the back of the van and Twitch burned rubber on the way out onto the road, dodging around cop cars.

                Hoxton leaned out of the door, Houston clinging to his coat to keep him from falling, and gave two middle fingers to the police, hands still covered in blood.

 

 

 

                Chains was sitting on the couch of the safehouse reading a book when Houston dragged Hoxton into the door, still cackling like a maniac.

                “What the hell are you two doing?  Is that blood?”  Chains threw his book down and jumped up, ready to call for Dallas to come stitch Hoxton back up.

                “’S not mine, mate we’re fiiiiiiiiiine,” Hoxton replied.

                Chains seemed relieved, then irritated.  “It took you too long getting back, what happened?”

                Houston grinned, holding up a couple plastic bags, from which the smell of food emanated.  “We got dinner.”

                Chains narrowed his eyes.  “You stole it didn’t you.”

                “If you don’t tell Dallas, I’ll share with you.”

                Chains debated for a long moment, then winked at his friend.  “Deal.”


End file.
